When you’re a bride-to-be, salespeople pile on the pressure to say yes to a dress you don’t even like

Ellen Coyne

'Even the kindest boutiques tend to engage in the same kind of psychological pressure that dresses up bald sales tactics with loaded emotion’

February 02 2023 02:30 AM

The bride was crying elegant, happy tears. She had emerged from behind the thick velour curtain of the dressing room to a cooing, gasping audience. The glossy mikado fabric of the gown thickly kissed the sequin-and-bead-strewn carpet of the boutique, as the skirt of the dress trailed sluggishly behind her. Both bride and dress took their place on the pedestal, figurative and literal. In one swift movement, the skirt was folded up like the curls of a Viennetta before being fluffed and unfurled with a professional flourish to reveal a perfect train. Everyone was emotional, and everyone agreed. It was the purest, almost cinematic form of the moment every bride chases: the heart-fluttering joy of saying yes to the dress.

All the while, I was sitting po-faced and idle in the boutique waiting room. I was able to hear every gasp and squeal as the world’s most perfect bridal appointment swelled well beyond its own slot, encroaching onto the first 20 minutes of my own. Which didn’t matter much at that point, as my enthusiasm for dress shopping was souring. Whatever experience the woman ahead of me was having, I had the strong and well-founded suspicion that mine would be the opposite.

I have not enjoyed wedding-dress shopping at all. I think the mythology that surrounds bridal boutiques, the pressure to be the star in this constructed fairytale moment, is impossible for a lot of women to live up to. Sometimes I’ve felt like I’m trying on costumes rather than dresses: a poor attempt on my part to fit the tight mould of “A Bride”. And a lot of the time, I’ve just felt pressure to buy something I’m not sure I want because a salesperson has almost persuaded me that to do so would be fate.

These erstwhile strangers become your confidante and sorority sister with a speed I’ve only ever previously seen in midwives

I want to be kind to the women who work in these boutiques, because they have all been kind to me. They do skilled work. In the privacy of the dressing room, these erstwhile strangers become your confidante and sorority sister with a speed I’ve only ever previously seen in midwives. They’re scrupulous with your mood and feelings, gently handling you into and out of each dress as though you were made of glass. Hyper-sensitive to any dip in your self-esteem, they will whip any dress responsible off you and banish it from the rails before you can say “I do”. Masters of diplomacy, they can obliterate the sting of thoughtless commentary from your entourage with even the most economic use of words.

But even the nicest, warmest and kindest boutiques tend to engage in the same kind of psychological pressure that essentially dresses up bald sales tactics with loaded emotion. “You only smiled in this dress,” I’m told. “You only started talking about your wedding day when you were wearing this one.” “Did you notice you stood taller in that one?” “You can tell you’re so happy in this one.”

The suggestion is that, in spite of yourself, you are subliminally choosing your own dress, to which you are innately attracted. As if we all have an inner bride deep in our subconscious, who lays dormant until she needs to voice her preference for an A-line skirt. Knowing myself, I’m sure I was only smiling or chatting to hide my discomfort. And so, I soon found myself keeping my face neutral when trying on dresses, and studiously avoiding idle wedding-day chat for fear I contributed to the pressure of the arranged union between myself and an expensive gown I don’t even like.

Misty eyes are often seized on by shop assistants as evidence that you have found “the one”, despite the fact that an emotional moment is easily constructed when one is in a wedding dress. The easiest way to secure a tear is to deploy a veil. If you’re simply excited to finally see yourself as a bride, this will be attributed to the mystical powers of the dress. And no matter when your wedding date is, the best time to pay a deposit and order a dress always seems to be that particular day. What are the odds? I started to regard the saleswomen the way a sceptic might consider a very good fortune teller. You can choose to appreciate the skill of what they’re doing, even if you don’t necessarily believe what they’re saying.

I am a sentimental bride. The dress is important to me, and choosing the right one matters a lot. Too much, I would say, to agree to spend hundreds, if not thousands, on one while riding the crest of a wave of manufactured emotion. All the pomp of dress shopping — the Prosecco, the cloying praise, the scrutiny that comes with standing on that little podium — has not been fun.

Fearful that I was intrinsically incapable of being a bride, I canvassed close friends who have or are going to tie the knot. It turns out that nobody could really say that they enjoyed wedding-dress shopping and most found it really stressful, even unpleasant. Two friends eventually went to boutiques on their own, stripping back the ritual and occasion of dress shopping so that they could make a cool and clear-headed decision without distraction. This made sense to me. Every other element of a wedding is a confluence of tastes — finding a balance that makes the day about both of you and each of your families, compromising where you can and reasoning where you can’t. But the dress is entirely your own, and is one decision that you can make unilaterally. After all, if anyone doesn’t like it on the day, they’re just going to have to keep that to themselves.